••Perfection never was man's duty
And it never will be••
"Oh my God! Curse is following for this girl o!" Mary exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand as she stared at the screen of her phone.
I eyed her warily and then decided to ask what was wrong even though I was 100% sure it would be something trivial; that girl is just the perfect definition of a drama queen.
"What is it again o?" I asked as I inched closer to her on my bed, making my purple dress ride up my thighs.
"Nawa o! Can you believe this Stephanie girl sha! See what she's wearing in this picture she posted," she exclaimed and turned her phone screen towards me to show me the picture she was talking about. I took a look at the light-skinned girl in the picture, wearing an off-shoulder Ankara mini-gown with white Nike sneakers. She looked pretty cool and even though she was one of the popular girls at school with their own geng and all that shit, I couldn't deny the fact that she was pretty.
"Mary, there's honestly nothing wrong with this picture and I don't understand why you're screaming." I rolled my eyes and continued my task of packing provisions into my big, red travelling bag. We were moving into the school hostel as a new term was starting and we ss3 students needed to study hard for the upcoming WAEC exams without any “distractions,” according to our principal.
"Honestly, how can you say that?! See how she's wearing sneakers on Ankara! Later you'll be calling yourself fashion police, mtcheeew! Oshi!" She hissed at me and continued scrolling through her IG feed. I simply shook my head and didn't bother to dignify her with a reply cause I knew we would just start an unnecessary argument which I wasn't in the mood for.
Mary could be so opinionated and conceited at times and she never takes advice's from people, but she was and had always been my best friend. We'd been together since primary school because our parents were friends and I was used to her bratty ways already. She could be really sweet and funny too, but her bratty side just got the best of her most times.
The door suddenly opened and I looked up to see my mother's head peeping through. "Honey are you ready?"
"Almost," I replied, breathing heavily as I shoved a box of my favourite cereal, cocoa pops into the bag and increased my pace in packing the rest of my stuff.
"Alright, come down for breakfast when you're done and don't forget to pack your drugs too, okay?" She said with a smile and I forced one in return.
"Okay ma."
And her head disappeared from the doorway, the door closing behind her with a click. A sigh escaped my lips once I was sure she was gone and I rolled my eyes and threw in my Victoria's secret makeup purse that contained my drugs and not what it was really made for in the box, and then zipped it shut.
My mom was more like a distant aunt in my life than she was a mother. You know those rich elderly aunties that stay abroad and only come home for Christmas and then act like they've been around all the while and are super close with everyone, but they're actually not? That's my mother. The distant aunt who's never around. And the few times she's around, she tries to act like a mother but it just doesn't work. I don't hate her for it. I try to understand her and my dad and their passion for their careers, but I just don't want her all up in my business, calling me honey like we're super close. Let's all maintain and respect the boundaries that's been set in place.
"Why are you looking like a deflated balloon?" Mary's voice snapped me out of my reverie and I stood up from the bed, straightening out my gown; I didn't want Mom to start complaining about me not looking prim and proper.
"Nothing. I'm going downstairs for breakfast, wanna join?" I quickly changed topic, even though I knew Mary would never fall for that.
"Of course I'll join! Who passes up an offer on food? So…start spilling," she said referring to her previous question as she got up from my bed, flipping her long braids behind her shoulder sassily.
"I said it's nothing. I'm not in the mood to talk." I shrugged and made my way to the door, Mary right behind me. And I knew she would let it go this time though, because even despite her often obnoxiousnes, she was also pretty understanding.
•
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"Thank you, Ngozi." I thanked our maid as she put my boxes in the trunk of the car and then closed it with a loud bang.
"It's alright small madam. I go miss you o!" she said in her tiny Igbo accent as she pulled me in for a hug.
"Aww, I'll miss you too Ngozi! I'll miss your soups! And school food probably tastes like shit." I smiled and hugged her back, knowing I genuinely would miss her. At least someone in this arctic house cared about me, even though we weren't realted by blood. Sigh.
"Ahn ahn...why is your maid hugging you like that? Nawa o, people don't even know their boundaries anymore!" Mary complained as she came out of the house and put her own boxes into the trunk. A frown made it's way to my face immediately and I was ready to call her out on her rudeness. How dare she talk to Ngozi like that!
"Why would you be talking to—"
"Mayowa! Are you ready?" My mom's yell came from the house, interrupting me and I rolled my eyes and sent Ngozi an apologetic look. She just smiled and nodded in understanding, hugged me again and ran into the house to continue her chores.
"Yes ma! I'm in the car already!" I yelled back in response to my mom and then prepared to get into the car, ignoring Mary who was trying to show me something on her phone. I didn't want to get angry and trigger my attack so I just kept quiet.
'Silence is golden', they say and truly, it is golden but people take advantage of your quietness and take you as a pushover if you're too quiet. That was exactly the story of my life. Just because I didn't want to hurt people or myself, I kept quiet always, even when I was supposed to talk. So people saw me as the idiot that never fights for herself or talk back to people.
I sighed heavily and got in the front seat of the car, leaving Mary to sit in the backseat and mom, the driver seat. Mary was going with us because her parents were out of the country on a business trip and her mom had entrusted her care with us, obviously because she's good friends with my Mom.
"Seatbelts please," Mom's voice came from beside me and I looked up, a bit startled cause I hadn't noticed when she got in. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I fastened my seatbelt then plugged in my headphones to avoid any awkward conversation she might try to start. I couldn't let her see me rolling my eyes though, whether playfully or not, she would go all bazooka on my ass about being so spoilt and rude. Like as if she was ever around to teach me manners. I didn't even know why she insisted on driving us to school and not just let the driver do it like usual.
I straightened out my dress and tried my best to sit ptoperly without slouching. I didn't want to give my mother anything to complain about because she always seemed to have one thing or the other to critique and fix about me.
"Don't yell when you speak! Eat with your mouth closed! Walk with your back straight! Smile at people! Speak only when you're spoken to! Be gentle! Don't be an idiot! You are a billionaire's daughter! Your father works with the President and is the biggest import and export trader in the country! You, his daughter can not be a slob!"
Those words have always been a mantra, instilled in me from the moment I could speak by my mother. I call her the witch of the west, a delusional woman who thinks of the world as hers. But no matter how hard I tried, I always was and will always be a slob.
Sometimes I even had thoughts that those things she made me do weren’t for my own good or because she genuinely cared about me, but to learn control over my "condition" in order to avoid shaming the family name. But of course, those were only my thoughts, not fact.
I sighed heavily, glad to finally be getting a break from everything. And as the red gates of my chool came into view, a wide smile took over my face, my heart racing in anticipation of what the last weeks of Secondary school that I would be spending in the school hostel would hold.
Don't get me wrong, school wasn't my safe haven but I preferred anything! Anything at all that wasn't my prison of a house and besides, I've never been in the school hostel before, so maybe it could be good...or even better.
Just maybe, I hoped.
But as we all know, our most wanted wishes never come true.
At least not for me.
GLOSSARY:
Ankara: A traditional clothing/fabric originating from Africa and worn by multiple African countries. But the fashion world has evolved and different people now wear it in different modern and stylish ways while maintaining and respecting its indigenous origins.
Small madam: Young boss.
WAEC: West-African Examination Council.